


Heartbreaker

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [18]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Demons, Episode: s07e05 Selfless, F/M, Feels, First Dates, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heartache, Heartbreak, Past Relationship(s), Plotty, Vengeance Demon(s), episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: Challenged to step-up her demon game, Anya grants a gruesome wish, forcing Buffy and Dean to respond.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was inspired by events in BTVS 7.05 “Selfless.”

Dean had been on three dates in his lifetime: one when he was a teenager and two with Cassie, his only ex-girlfriend. Early on, he decided dates were false hopes and stupidly high expectations. He preferred to keep things simple with the women in his life – a smile and a wink lead to “Ya wanna get outta here?” and culminated in a night of sheet-clenching, body-slick, forget-how-to-breathe sex. Dean didn’t know a lot about dates, but he knew enough to give Buffy, shivering in her black satin slip dress, his jacket as they sat on a driftwood log staring at stars over the ocean. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she smiled at him almost shyly. She’d been looking at him differently all night, bashful glances through her long lashes, a blush on her cheeks when she laughed, her lips slightly parted as she stared at him, wanting, it seemed, to be consumed. Dean assumed it was either the alcohol or because he’d put on his Fed suit for her and, according to Dawn, “looked like an actual adult.” Either way, she was out of the house and not dwelling on people she couldn’t save.

He wrapped his arms around her and planted a long, lush kiss behind her ear.

“Mmm, now I’m beyond better.” She sighed contentedly and rested her head against his shoulder. “Dinner was lovely, by the way. Thank you.”

“You could use a night out. Sure beats my cookin’.”

“I actually prefer your cooking.”

Dean chuckled, recalling of some of the more creative recipes he used to inflict on his brother. “You definitely need to get out more, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s just that I feel…cared for when you cook. I haven’t felt that in a long time.”

“Good,” he confessed, “because I care about you.”

The words lingered in the air for a moment before Buffy started to giggle. With her hand clutching his shirt, she buried her face in his chest and let loose.

“What has gotten into you, Girly?”

“What’s gotten into you?” she replied with a smile that rivaled the moon for brightness.

Drawing her in, he kissed her long and slow, flicking his tongue lightly over her vanilla and honey lips before pressing deeper into her. His hands, his mouth, his nostrils were filled with her presence. She consumed his senses as much as she had lately consumed his thoughts.

She pulled back, eyes still closed, savoring, smiling as she bit her lip. Since the night they met, Dean had thought Buffy was pretty with her valley-girl-next-door cuteness, but tonight she was stunning, a golden goddess he couldn’t wait to worship. No one else was on the beach. Slowly, he slipped his hand off of her neck and traced his fingers around the delicate straps of her dress and on down across her breasts and along the edge of her plunging neckline.  

“You,” she said, reaching up to hold his wandering hand, “were going to tell me about you and Sam and the stars.”

Clearly, her mind was on a different kind of intimacy. The past few days, she’d been peppering him with questions about life where he was from, and she seemed to revel in any little detail Dean was willing to divulge. Quietly, as if telling a bedtime story, he said, “Yeah, well there are ancient Greek stories for the constellations, but they involved a lot of names we couldn’t remember and places we couldn’t imagine, so we’d make them up. Wasn’t much else to do at night in the back a the car.”

“What’s your favorite?” she asked, nestling into his shoulder.

“Orion, the hunter, for sure. It’s easy to spot for one. There’s some big story about him wanting to kill all the animals on earth which got his sorry ass killed, but Sam and I liked to pretend he was our constellation. He rode across the sky as we drove across the country, shotgun shells full of stars in his pockets, finding everything out there that might be coming for us. And Sam liked that Orion had a dog. Kid always wanted a dog.”

“Can there be a Buffy star?”

“I think the Greeks just pointed and named them. Have at it, Girly.”

“Can my Slayer constellation be by your Hunter constellation?” she asked brightly.

“Sure. It’s over –” They turned around to find two female vampires about ten feet behind them.

“Are you serious?” asked Buffy, indignantly.

“Surprised?” snarked the lanky blonde one. “News flash. Vampires are real.”

“Isn’t Sam supposed to be handling this tonight?” Buffy flatly asked Dean.

“Yeah, but he’s patrolling graveyards and that shitty club.”

The short brunette seemed annoyed by their lack of concern. “Do you not understand that we’re here to eat you? We’re, like, going to drink all your blood then throw your bodies in the ocean or something.”

“You’re new in town, aren’t you?” Buffy asked in a near pitying tone.

The two vampires looked at each other for answers. “Uh, yeah, so?” quipped the brunette.

“So, we are the last couple you want to tangle with. Didn’t anyone tell you the Slayer lives in Sunnydale?”

The blonde waved her off dismissively. “I don’t care what sort of stupid name your boyfriend calls himself. We’re going to eat you, and make him watch.”

Dean couldn’t hold in his laughter, but Buffy was annoyed. “No! Me! I’m the Slayer, you freshly dead half-wit. You are interrupting a very nice, unexpectedly romantic date with my boyfriend. This man brought me flowers, for crying out loud, and I was all swoony. But you are seriously dampening my happy.”

“Ew. And that worked on you?” asked the blonde vampire, confused. “That’s kinda lame. Honestly, I thought you were a working girl dressed all trashy like that. I mean, how low can a neckline go?”

“Hey!” Dean protested.

“Oh no. You did not! I am going to kick your ass!” Buffy reached in the pockets of Dean’s jacket only to find his gun and handcuffs. “Why are you even carrying this?”

“It’s helpful,” he said and demonstrated by shooting each vampire in a knee. They didn’t go down, but they were occupied with screaming for the moment. “I’m not normally as fast and strong as I am here. Stake’s inside pocket.”

“God, you’re so prepared, like a sick little boy scout,” she said biting her lip and handing him back his suit coat. “Okay, bitches. There will be no ruining of the Slayer’s date night.”

The brunette took off running as fast as she could on a ruined knee, while Buffy vaulted off the log and onto the blonde dusting her in a second.

Dean smiled wide as he watched his girlfriend leap across the sand after the injured monster. She was primal, elegant, and completely in control.

She swaggered back to him. Sand stuck to her dress and locks of hair had slipped out of their pins. Even in the moonlight, he could see her cheeks were flushed from the run. She was radiant.

“The beach is a little crowded,” she said as she dropped into his lap. “How about we go back to your place and play with those handcuffs?”

* * *

 

_Fwwump!_ Sam silenced his alarm with a slap. The scrapes and aches in his body roared awake. He fingered a bruise on his ribs, a memento from weapons training with Buffy two days before, and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen from his bedside table. “Goddamn superpowers,” he muttered to no one. It would be a great day to call in sick, but he figured he should save those days for injuries that couldn’t be covered. Plus, he didn’t want to hear Dean’s “I told you so,” regarding training. “Don’t hold back,” would never again fall from Sam’s lips.

The cool morning air bit his bare skin as he threw back the covers and stretched. Stretching hurt like hell, but he knew from experience babying his body was counter-productive. Like he did every morning, Sam dropped to the floor for a hundred (agonizing) push-ups. His arms were screaming when he finished, but he still pulled on his sweats and sneakers for his morning run.

Being the first day of October, it was going to be around eighty degrees. The middle of a southern California fall was a dream summer in South Dakota. Sam smiled to himself, imagining Bobby suspiciously squinting at the sun before drawing the curtains and cleaning his guns until the weather “improved.”

Bobby. Sam liked Sunnydale, but he couldn’t shake the nagging worry he had about his wheelchair-bound friend. With Ellen and Jo dead, themselves missing, he wasn’t sure if anyone was checking on the old coot anymore.

A curvy woman with red hair and piercing green eyes jogged up beside him. Catching a whiff of her orange blossom and sandalwood perfume, Sam smiled at her. She smiled back in a way that immediately made him think of other sweaty activities, before sprinting down the block. “Wait up!” he yelled, knowing full well he could catch her but suspecting that would be a creeper move. She dashed ahead without looking back, cut through a gap in the traffic at a busy intersection, and turned the corner. Sam got there only a few seconds later, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Confused and aching, he walked home. He would have liked to introduce himself. Get her number. Did he even remember how to ask a woman out for drinks? He remembered the warmth of a woman’s skin, the softness, the taste. Her fingers in his hair. Her moaning in his ear.

God, did he miss sex.

When he returned to the apartment, Dean was in the shower. Sam busied himself with breakfast, coffee and cereal with fruit.

Sam liked Sunnydale, but he was lonely. His life revolved around the school library and dusting vampires, with a little R&R with his brother’s girlfriend’s friends on the side. He would never admit it, but he was jealous of Dean. Dean, who thought with his dick and lived for a wild one-night stand, had settled down. Why couldn’t he? He was smart, charming and handsome. He also had weird powers and a time travel stamp on his passport.

Dean was still in the shower. Sam knocked. “Hey, freelancer! Some of us still have schedules. Hurry it up!”

He poured himself another cup of coffee and flipped through the morning paper. Neck ruptures. Double funerals. Missing persons. A yellow mess the paper was calling “death by blood poisoning.” It felt like whatever they were fighting was upping the ante.

After making note of deaths to check out later, Sam started glaring at the bathroom door. At this rate, he’d barely have enough time to shower and dress before work; even then, his hair would be dripping when he got to school. Annoyed, he popped open the bathroom door and strode inside. Dean didn’t say anything. Sam flipped up the toilet seat and began griping over the sound of his piss, “We can’t do this every morning, Dean. I need to be at work by seven. If that means we need to fucking schedule shower time so you can remember other people, so be it.”

Sam thought he heard some sort of grunt of agreement.

“I’m going to brush my teeth, then I need the shower, dude.”

Dean gave no indication he’d heard. He wasn’t usually quiet in the shower. Dean sang or shouted at him in the other room or – of course. Sam rinsed and spit, then stuck his hand in the shower and turned the water dial to cold – resulting in Dean and Buffy hooting in surprise.

Furious, Dean stuck his head out from the curtain and pointed. “It’s on, Sam!”

Unconcerned, Sam stated, “You can’t declare a prank war on me when all I’m trying to do is get you out of the goddamn shower. You have to do it because you’re childish, not because you’re childish _and_ selfish.” He tossed Dean two towels as an act of truce before stepping out of the room. After a moment, a wet blonde in a towel hurried past him and ducked into Dean’s room.

Sam yelped as a sharp sting hit his leg.

Dean, standing naked in the doorway with a towel-whip in his hand, said, “Now we’re even,” before heading to his bedroom.

After he showered and dressed, Sam headed to the kitchen to make his lunch. His brother and Buffy looked like they were trying to have a casual conversation about something tense.

“I don’t see how this is your job,” Dean grumbled, moving out of the way so Sam could get to the fridge.

Buffy cocked her head and pursed her lips. “It’s not just his soul. There’s something in the basement driving Spike insane. I have to get him out of there!”

Of course, it was Spike. They hadn’t seen him since the night they’d learned Buffy’s mysterious friend was a vampire, but every once in a while, Dean would bring him up, cursing a blue streak. The entire concept of a vampire with a soul didn’t sit well with either Dean, neither did the odd hold he seemed to have on Buffy. Sam figured whatever Spike-related topic they were arguing about this morning, they had argued about several times before.

“Well, he ain’t staying here!”

“God, no! The two of you in the same room would be my worst nightmare.” She shivered.  “I’ll figure something out. Gotta run,” she said, kissing him on the cheek before gathering up her things and dashing out the door with Sam on her heels.   

* * *

 

_Studies show that subjects in love experience a rush of dopamine similar to the high caused by taking narcotics such as cocaine or nicotine. Withdrawals via heartbreak can be equally difficult._

“Is this true?” Dean asked.

Buffy raised her eyebrows, the laugh already creeping into her smile. “It’s a textbook. I’m going to be pissed come finals time if it was all a joke.”

Dean had taken a break from gutting an old apartment to join Buffy for lunch. The afternoon’s activities had turned more academic than he’d hoped. Her first Developmental Psychology test was at the end of the week, and she’d asked him to help her review the first few chapters.

“So you finish this class, that means you can head-shrink people?”

Now the laugh burst forth. “That would take a few more years.”

“You’re good at the peer counselor thing.” Dinner conversations nowadays had to do with the students she’d recently seen. While she was clearly annoyed by some of their entitled behavior, she melted whenever she talked about being able to help a kid. Her heart was big, warm and radiant, casting light on his small, cold world.

Willow dashed in the front door, pale and sweaty. “Buffy! I just saw – Oh, hi Dean.” She took measured breaths and smiled awkwardly. “I saw the books for the new semester, and they’re wow. I mean learning is hot. Yeah.”

“What freak of nature did you run into, Red?” He may not know Willow well, but thanks to his brother, Dean was well acquainted with excited-by-books face.

“What? Ha ha ha ha!” Her laugh was over-loud, punctuated by slapping her thigh and giving Buffy crazy eyes.

“It’s okay, Will. Dean’s completely clued into this craziness. What did you see?”

“Uh, okay. I was on campus seeing if I could start classes late this semester when I saw Anya walking out of the Gamma Kappa Tau house.”

“The gamer what?” ask Dean.

“Gamma Kappa Tau,” repeated Buffy. “They’re a fraternity of practical joke-playing skeezeballs. Home of roofies and streakers.”

“It’s not home to anyone now. Anya was acting weird even for Anya, so I went in. Buffy, it’s a bloodbath. At least a dozen guys with their hearts missing. I found a girl crying in the closet. She said she had ‘wished they knew what it felt like to have their hearts ripped out.’”

“And Anya saw what ganked ‘em?” Dean asked, unsure that he’d kept up with what wasn’t being said. Buffy turned to him with her mouth open, hands in the middle of an expression, and froze. He’d seen this look before. “What is Anya?” he asked, crossing his arms.

She looked like she was bracing for some blowback when she said, “Anya is a demon, a vengeance demon. They’re sort of like a one-time use evil genie of the love-gone-wrong world.”

“That don’t sound like the sort of harmless monster than makes hot chocolate and eats kittens. But then Clem’s the only one you told me about. Willow, Spike, Anya. This is a pattern with you, Buffy! Jesus fucking Christ, next you’re going to tell me Dawn’s a werewolf.”

“I’m telling you now, okay? Sometimes it’s just easier to not kick the hornet’s nest of Dean Winchester,” she snapped.

“So what’s the deal?” he asked, his voice growing louder. “She’s your friend, so she gets a pass to kill?”

“God, no. Most of the time that we’ve known her, Anya’s been human. Weird and awkward but human. After Xander bailed on her, she went demon again. She hadn’t hurt anyone, but I’ve been keeping an eye on her just in case she slipped up.”

“Slipped up? You call a slaughtered fraternity a fall off the wagon? You’re riskin’ people’s lives here, Buffy.”

Willow coughed.

Buffy scowled and matched his volume. “Do you think I don’t know that, Dean? Do you think I’m going to fall asleep dreaming of starlight and happiness tonight?”

“Excuse me?” squeaked Willow.

Buffy continued. “Do you think this is easy for me? My world isn’t ‘humans good, demons bad’ like yours. There’s been a potentially dangerous demon in my city for months that I couldn’t just deal with–”

“–because she’s your friend!” Dean shouted.

“–because Xander is still in love with her!” Buffy took a deep breath and nearly whispered, “I wondered if that would pull her back. If loving her would save her, but it didn’t. Now people are dead, and I have to break Xander’s heart.”

“What are we going to tell Xander?” Willow interjected.

Buffy sighed, the weight of the news pressing the life from her. “The truth? It’s only right.”

“He’s going to be crushed.”

Dean was halfway out the door before Buffy stepped in front of him, hands on his chest, pushing him back in. “Where are you going?”

Annoyed that, yet again, Buffy had failed to tell him about one of her potentially dangerous friends, Dean wanted to do what he did best: cleaning up other people’s messes. “I’m going to load up back home and hunt down Anya. You don’t have to be the one to kill her.”

“But I do, Dean. She’s my responsibility. You said it yourself, I let her stick around until she fell off the wagon. I have to clean this mess up. Besides, I would prefer you not go all Lancelot on a man-hating demon.   

“Look, Sam told me about another freaky death last night,” she continued. “Could you two look into that while I jump into this ugliness? I promise I’ll call you after and tell you anything you want to know. Okay?”

Buffy looked pale and tired, the oncoming fight with her friend and death sentence on another already weighing her down. As much as he wanted to stay mad at her for potentially putting him and his brother in harm’s way again, he couldn’t. He brushed her hair out of her eyes, kissed her forehead, and headed home.

* * *

 

Dusk fell on UC Sunnydale as students rushed to the dining commons, others to class, still more soaked up the sunset by lounging about.

“Sorry, Dean,” said Sam, “can you repeat this plan again? Maybe it will sound less insane the third time.”

“We’re going to check out the bodies and survey the damage, then head over to Anya’s apartment – which you know how to find because you have shit taste in women – and kill her so Buffy doesn’t have to.”

“Because Anya – cute, weird Anya who fed me Oreos while she told me about demons – is an evil genie?”

“Demon genie,” clarified Dean. “I guess she grants only nasty wishes then makes ‘em nastier. Sounds like a crossroads demon to me, but the girls didn’t say anything about souls.”

“And you think we can just shoot her?” he asked, incredulous.

Dean put up his hand to silence his brother. “You shot that other demon and slowed it the hell down. Figured if we hurt her enough, I can get in with Ruby’s knife before she goes vengeancey on our asses. Besides, Buffy doesn’t need to be killing one of her friends right now.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she’ll thank you with smiles and sex,” grumbled Sam under his breath.

The Gamma Kappa Tau house was dark and quiet, a virtual alarm screaming, “Something is wrong at the frat house!” Sam and Dean pulled out their flashlights and guns and pushed the door open. Over-stuffed, mismatched couches and chairs packed the living room. The walls were covered in photos, plaques and – “We got blood,” Dean said, shining his light on a smeared hand print.

“Some over here, too.” Sam pointed at the floor where dark trail lead to the game room. “Dean, bodies.”

Bodies was an understatement. The bodies were piled on top of each other. They had died clamoring over each other, trying to get away while listening to the sickening sound of their friends’ hearts being yanked from their chests. “The witch wasn’t lying when she said it was a blood bath. Said these guys were assholes too, but no one deserves this.”

“I beg to differ,” said a voice in the doorway. The Winchesters whipped around, focusing their lights on Anya. “They were hu-mil-i-a-ting her. He dragged her in front of his friends to break her heart.” She looked them up and down, evaluating them. They dared not reach for their weapons. “But I guess men like you don’t think about broken hearts much, do you? I bet you have quite the trail in your wake. Surprised no one’s sought me out to get back at you yet.

“Is this it?” she asked, her voice high and hurt. “The Slayer sent the B-team to do her dirty work. Do I not even merit a call? God, how many people do I have to kill to get some attention?”

“Hey, Anya,” said Sam, nervously as he and Dean drifted apart, “no one sent us. We heard there were bodies and –”

“Can it, Winchester.” She raised a hand toward Dean in her peripheral. Her voice was hard and sharp. “Dean, if you try to shoot me, I’m going to hurt you. You know how women like to lash out in pain.”

“Sorry, bitch, I –” and Dean felt himself slamming into the wall. The wind rushed from his lungs as he flew over and over into the wall like the rag doll of a budding psychopath. Then he was crashing through it. A cloud of drywall and splinters surrounded him as he laid prone on the floor coughing blood.

“Prefacing it with _sorry_ , doesn’t make _bitch_ less offensive, dick.” Anya stood over him, but instead of going for the kill, she stared at him with her head tilted, a frown on her face, as if she was trying to figure out which animal he was before he was mangled. In a calm voice, she wondered aloud, “You and Buffy must still be together if she’s sending you to kill for her. After that fight you had about Spike, I had odds against it. You’re not really her type anyway. You’ve got the bad boy thing down on the outside, but you’re too sweet. Buffy likes a guy who talks pretty but treats her like shit…like Spike.”

Dean, seeing spots and breathless with pain, felt his head spinning for completely new reasons. Buffy and Spike. No wonder she wanted him spared, wanted to find him a home. She cared about that monster.

“Oh, you look surprised. She didn’t tell you she was knocking boots with a vampire for months? Maybe it slipped her mind. It’s not like he was the first.”

“Back away!” shouted Sam.

Keeping her eyes on Dean, she said, “Sam, do you really have it in you to kill me? We kissed once. That has to count for –”

Her body jerked to the side as Sam’s bullet passed through her skull. She stumbled and fell to the floor clutching her head. “Ow, you asshole! That hurt!” Her face morphed from pink-lipped and pretty, to raw and angry, the sinews and muscles exposed.

Still dizzy and winded from being thrown through a wall, Dean pulled out Ruby’s knife and pressed it into Sam’s palm. “Finish her off!”

“I don’t have time for this bullshit,” Anya grumbled. With the flick of her hands, the brothers were pinned to the high ceiling, unable to move, unable to cry out.

Far below, Anya turned on the lights and sat down. She did not survey her carnage, shoulders back and chin high, like a proud queen. Rather, she curled up on herself – legs pulled in, arms crossed, head down, staring at the door to the game room – as if she were trying to comprehend a horror she did not want to see.

When she rose to close the door on her massacre, Xander arrived, breathless and begging. “An-Anya, you need to run. Buffy’s on her way.”

“I know.” Her voice was resigned.

“To kill you!”

She slumped against the game room door. “I thought it would make me feel powerful to rip out someone’s heart, to watch the life ebb from them, but it made me feel like shit. I hurt so many people. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop once I started.”

Buffy arrived, sword in hand, and, ignoring Xander, coolly said to Anya, “You ready?”

The thrill of a fight seemed to strengthen Anya, now standing straight and proud. “To give your stuck-up, friend-betraying ass a beat down? Wouldn’t miss it.”

The Slayer and demon tumbled and leapt from the furniture and stairs, every surface a launching pad for packing more punch.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” Buffy said, spinning her blade toward the demon.

“It was always going to be like this,” said Anya, blocking the blow with a fire poker. “You’ve been itching for a reason to kill me since we met. Did you dream about it when I was human too?”

Buffy sneaked under the poker and impaled Anya through the heart. “I never wanted this.”

The demon’s body hung limp against the wall, but Dean still could not move or speak. Anya began to twitch and pulled the sword from her chest. “This sword isn’t even charmed. Are you kidding me?” she whined.

The fight resumed. Anya had thrown Dean through a wall with her telekinetic powers, but she didn’t use them on Buffy, preferring the intimate connection of bone bruising skin.

Buffy and Anya rolled on the floor, trading the upper hand, beating each other’s faces, breaking each other’s fingers. Xander shouted over and over, begging them to stop, trying to pull them off each other, being shoved away each time.

A figure appeared in a flash of lightning. Its skin was purplish grey with a long beard and four horns protruding behind it’s pointed ears.

“You called, Anyanka?”

Buffy and Xander popped up from the floor, Buffy in a defensive crouch. Anya remained on her knees, head bowed.

“D’Hoffryn, you know what I’ve done,” said Anya.

“Word has reached me.” The demon walked toward the game room and grinned at the pile of bodies. “Fair to say you’re back in fighting form. This may be some of your best work in centuries.”

“Undo it!” Anya begged.

“Why would I destroy something this beautiful?” D’Hoffryn asked.

“Please, I-I can’t live like this. Bring them back.”

“Are you willing to pay the cost?” he asked.

“I don’t want to be a demon anymore. I’m willing to pay.”

“In that case.” The demon snapped his fingers and a woman Dean had never seen appeared.

“Oh, hey Anyanka!” she said warmly. She looked at D’Hoffryn with slight apprehension. “Are we having a Vengence meeting, because I totally didn’t–” Her words cut off as her skin began to crack, as if a fireball was bursting from inside her.

Anya screamed, wept, begged, “Not her! Me! Kill me!”

And then the Winchesters were crashing to the floor.

* * *

 

Suddenly, Dean and Sam dropped from above, landing with a sickening thud. Buffy started to rush toward them, but D’Hoffryn, displaying his fangs in what Buffy assumed was a smile, got there first. He stared at them like curious treats. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Run, Sam!”

But Sam didn’t run. His eyes, wide with terror, were glued to the Master of the Vengeance Demons as he grabbed Dean by the throat and lifted him off his feet.

“My, my. What a prize. Hell talks about you, Dean.”

Tightening her grip on her sword, Buffy slinked toward D’Hoffryn, but she wasn’t as stealthy as she’d hoped.

The demon turned toward her while Dean still dangled in the air. “What are you doing Slayer?” A light of comprehension flickered across his black eyes. “Oh, OH! Dean Winchester means something to you, doesn’t he? That. Is. Precious. The Slayer and the Hunter.” He threw his head back to laugh at this personal joke.

Sam took the opportunity to lunge at him with a knife, but Anya screamed and pushed Sam off balance, sending the knife flying. They toppled to the floor, Anya’s eyes pleading and desperate.

“D’Hoffyn,” Buffy practically spat, “I don’t know what you want with Dean, but put him down or so help me–”

“Save the speech, little Miss Stabs-a-lot.” He turned his attention back to Dean who looked close to blacking out. “How did you get here? Do resist. I have some new _methods_ I’d like to try.” He licked his lips, savoring the idea of Dean’s torture.

“Don’t know. Spilled coffee on the map.”

“I would be hailed as a hero if I brought you down, especially if I had that darling brother of yours in tow. We could put you on the rack. There’s a spot ready for Sam, too.” D’Hoffryn’s claws left bloody scratches on either side of Dean’s neck as he set him back on his feet. “Lucky for you, I don’t trust the cage cult. Too servile. Too…cultish.”

Turning to Sam, he said, “And lucky for you Anya stopped you, or I would have made you eat his intestines.

“I don’t really care what happens to you either way – well, obviously, I prefer blood to be split at a bare minimum, but I’m sure that will happen whether I’m involved in your fate or not. No, I think I’ll leave you here for now. See what unravels. I can always collect you later if I see the need.”

He spun on his heels, his robes swirling around him, and ascended the stairs. “What about me?” Anya called after him.

“You didn’t want to be a demon any more; you are no longer any concern of mine, Anyanka. Besides, I doubt any of you will survive what’s coming.” He pointed at the ground and growled, “It is watching.” With another flash, he was gone.

Buffy rushed to Dean’s side and threw her arms around him. The fight over, the demons gone, and a fraternity waking up alive in the next room, she felt the adrenaline drain from her body, leaving her weak-kneed. She was annoyed Dean wasn’t investigating the murder she’d asked him to look into, but mostly she was relieved he was okay after his fall and confrontation with D’Hoffryn. Everything else, they could iron out.

His large hands pushed her away. Dean’s face was a cocktail of disgust, anger, and hurt. “Don’t. Just don’t,” he hissed before stalking out of the frat house.

Sick with worry, she looked to Sam who simply shrugged and followed his brother. She felt herself trembling and leaned against a couch for support.

“I may have filled him in on some details you’ve glossed over,” Anya confessed, “like your preference for the undead.”

Buffy wanted to shout, but all that came out was a choked squeak.

Tears brimmed in Anya’s eyes. “Truth is ugly in the light, isn’t it?”

* * *

 

In an empty lot two blocks away, Dean was working on his car, right where Sam had told her he would be. “Buffy, you may want to wait a couple more days before talking to him. He’s pretty hurt,” he’d advised, but she just wanted to get this over with, put the continuing life ruiner that was Spike behind them.

He was bent over the exposed engine fiddling with something she couldn’t see, grease streaked up his arms, sweat soaking his grey t-shirt, and a stern look on his face. “What’s wrong with it?” Buffy asked.

“Timing’s off.” He didn’t look at her.

“Ah,” she said, pretending that explained everything. Pretending she understood him. He continued doing something with a wrench and chain, ignoring her. Unable to take the silence any longer, she broached, “We need to talk.”

“About you fuckin’ a corpse?”

“God, Dean, that’s disgusting! I’m not a necrophiliac.” Every nerve rose to attention. So this is how it was going to be?

“Oh, are there nuances here? I’m sure you’d know all about that seein’ as vampires are a habit for you.” He wiped his hands on a rag before closing the hood. His arms tensed as he made a fist, as if he was trying to choke some unarticulated feeling.

“What do you want me to say, Dean? I’m sorry I was intimate with one of the few people who understood what I was going through? Maybe you want: I’m sorry I slept with someone instead of hanging onto my virginity until you showed up? Are you that childish? Because, you know what, I don’t have a damn thing to apologize for! My life sex life before you is none of your business.” She threw up her hands and went for a weak spot. “Unless you want to compare. I’m sure I’d be thrilled with the list of whores in your past.”

He looked up from putting away his tools. “Sorry to disappoint you, but there ain’t any whores in my past. They’re pretty easy to avoid. Kinda like vampires.”

He’d warned her he wasn’t the there-in-the-morning type, so how could she expect him to understand that need? His entire history with women was shallow, quick hookups. Talking went beyond sex; the most intimate thing she could imagine was being understood. For a while, she thought Dean did. “What do you possibly want me to say?”

“Let’s start with the fact that I can’t trust you, Buffy.” He latched his toolbox shut. “It seems like every week, someone new is an ex-murderer. And every fuckin’ time, I look like a goddamn idiot. Ain’t nothing you can say that I’m gonna believe.”

“That’s _hilarious_ coming from you, Dean Winchester, the master liar. Did you think I actually fall for all the bullshit you shovel at me? Like everything you told me about when you died? About your time in Hell? I _trusted_ you. I opened up to you, told you things I haven’t told _anyone_.“

He answered her by picking up his toolbox and walking to his apartment.

She would not cry. She would not. A hookup wasn’t worth tears. She couldn’t mean more to him if he wasn’t willing to talk about this. If he wasn’t willing to look at her. “If that’s the way you want it, fine. Go home and notch your bedpost or belt or whatever it is you do.”

What had she been thinking bringing a dangerous man she barely knew into her home? Into her bed? “I don’t have time to play games. Until you grow the hell up, I can’t be with you.” Without waiting for a response, she left him.


End file.
